


Your Loveliest Lie

by Fire_Sign



Series: Phrack Fucking Fridays [13]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, pff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-28 17:46:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11423001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign
Summary: After a long day at work, there's nothing like a little recreational reading.July's PFF contribution.





	Your Loveliest Lie

**Author's Note:**

> Look, this fic was 100% "We always appreciate Jack's voice, which is understandable because yowzers, but fail to appreciate Phryne's sexy tones" in intention. Execution not so much, but the mental image of her teasing Jack with Edna St. Vincent Millay in that voice of hers made for a very happy writer.

The house was dark by the time Jack arrived home, though he’d seen a pale light in the bedroom window that meant Phryne was back from her evening out. Unlocking the door, he quietly hung his hat and coat and toed off his shoes before heading upstairs; the lack of stairs after long shift was one of the few things he missed about his bungalow, but as the mattress was far more comfortable it all came out in the wash.

Entering the bedroom, he smiled softly. Phryne, clad in a grey silk nightgown, was in bed, reading a book and drinking hot cocoa. 

“Mmm, this is a first,” he said to announce himself. “Me visiting all the places of ill-repute while you’re tucked into bed.”

She smiled softly, laying her book aside and moving over to give him space.

“I _was_ at a place of ill-repute, until they got wind a copper was poking around all the usual haunts. Thought it best to head home, save you the embarrassment of bailing your own wife out of jail.”

“It could only have improved the day,” he said heavily, shrugging out of his jacket and waistcoat. 

“No luck finding Barty Brown then?”

“None,” Jack sighed, going to remove his shoes before realising he’d left them downstairs. 

Phryne held out her hand in offer, encouraging him to join her on the bed. He did, and she ran her free hand through his hair and coaxed his head onto her lap. He went, the silk of her nightgown smooth against his cheek, and allowed his eyes to drift shut. Phryne picked up her book again.

“What are you reading?” he asked.

“A book of poetry,” she replied. “Do you want me to read it aloud?”

“If you’d like,” he said; surrounded by her warmth and scent he could already feel himself becoming drowsy.

She stroked his hair again, then turned the pages of her book in search of a particular piece.

“Ah, here we are,” she said, a hint of laughter in her voice. “This one is perfect.”

She leant over to kiss his forehead, loosening his tie with practiced ease, and began to read, her voice low and seductive.

“ _I shall forget you presently, my dear,_ ” she murmured. “ _So make the most of this, your little day,/your little month, your little half a year_ ” --she smoothed her hand down his chest, then unbuttoned his shirt; he shivered at her touch and her voice, the way they bathed him in comfort-- “ _Ere I forget, or die, or move away,/And we are done forever; by and by…_ ” she leant over to kiss him again, a soft press of her lips; he deepened the kiss despite the awkward position, until she pulled away and laughed.

“Something amusing, Miss Fisher?”

“You’re looking a little more yourself,” she said.

He felt more like himself, in truth; tired, yes, but not the bone-weariness that had lain on his shoulders as he’d entered the room.

“Your voice has remarkable restorative properties,” he replied.

She smirked this time, her hand drifting from his stomach where it had rested; first down to brush against his cock, then up to cup his cheek, before focusing on the book once more. Her lips quirked as she continued: “ _I shall forget you, as I said, but now,/If you entreat me with your loveliest lie--_ ”

He sat up, pulling the book from her hand and tossing it aside before kissing her again.

“Which lie would you like?” he rumbled, pressing her against the bed as he kissed his way down her neck and over her silk-clad breasts; she gasped and arched her back.

“That one,” she said, mewling as his tongue batted at the hard nipple.

His hands slid up her thighs, hiking the nightgown over her hips, and continued downward.

“Not this one?” he asked, his lips brushing against her stomach as he spoke.

“I suppose I could live with it,” she sighed, biting back a moan as he traced his finger through her folds.

“Or there’s always--but no, I’m sure you’ve forgotten it already.” 

She pushed herself up onto her elbows, hair mussed and so beautiful he almost wanted not to tease her. Almost. Her eyebrow arched in challenge.

“What, Jack?”

He smirked.

“Why don’t you keep talking?” he suggested. “And I’ll put my mouth to better use.”


End file.
